


Ardently

by Flavortext



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Other, listen. they're in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19104952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flavortext/pseuds/Flavortext
Summary: Just a little missing bit...they show Aziraphale finding out his shop is okay in the daytime, so he MUST have spent the night at Crowley's. Logically.I wrote the later half of this with two of my fingers in a splint so uh, sorry if its rushed or has typos





	Ardently

Aziraphale spends that first night after the End at Crowley’s apartment. They walk from the bus stop, hands brushing but neither reaching out, and Aziraphale bites his tongue silently as Crowley unlocks his front door and leads him into the space. 

It's dimly lit and extravagant. Aziraphale isn’t sure the height of the ceilings, but he’s sure he could stretch his wings out just in the entryway alone and not brush anything. Crowley places his keys in a little bowl by the door and shrugs his coat off, folding it over and arm before turning expectantly to Aziraphale.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale pulls his off and awkwardly hands it over. Crowley nods and opens a closet, smooth dark grey door blending almost into the wall. Aziraphale tries not to sneak a peek at the other items in the closet, though he notes a few umbrellas in a stand and- what /must/ be one of his coats, though he can’t figure out why Crowley would have that /here/, he doesn’t even remember losing one. Crowley shuts the door quickly, though, and gives Aziraphale a thin smile. 

“I don’t think there’s much in the fridge, but there’s wine. Take your pick. Second door to the left.” He waves his hand down the hall. “I’ll set you up in the guest room.” He turns and goes down the hall that branches off to the right.

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale follows him, pausing at the intersection. 

“This one’s mine, if you need me tonight.” Crowley knocks on a door. “Next one’s all yours.” 

“Okay.” Aziraphale still doesn’t move.

“Go pick our poison.” Crowley cocks an actual smile this time, and Aziraphale finds himself mirroring it. He nods and heads the other way to the aforementioned kitchen.

Crowley’s kitchen is just as clean and dark as the rest of the house, with a stainless steel fridge, black marble countertops, and the only real defloration being a small plant on the window behind the sink, which has its curtains drawn. There’s a small wooden wine rack on the far counter, next to a pristine toaster. Aziraphale crosses over to it and begins reading labels. 

After a minute he gives up, too tired from the day to be at all picky, and grabs the first wine he had looked at. He sets it on the counter and stares awkwardly around the kitchen. He doesn’t know where Crowley keeps anything, having never been to the apartment before, and he isn’t sure if it would be...rude to just start rifling through drawers. 

Aziraphale glances at the plant sitting above the sink. 

“Don’t tell, please.” He asks, and tugs open the nearest drawer. 

It takes a minute or two of searching to unearth a bottle opener from Crowley’s things. For all the counters are spotless and empty, his drawers contain, to the best of Aziraphale’s ability to discern things, a few thousand years worth of junk. He finds several rather precious looking stones, a hoard of candles, plenty of silverware, hot hands, ornate knives, a drawer full of rubber snakes, and finally a drawer that contains a book on baking, two loose bags of one of Aziraphale’s favorite teas, and a bottle opener. He takes it, looks at the tea, and slowly closes the drawer. 

The cabinets in the kitchen are much less crowded, in fact, the first one he opens has only a few mugs, a row of wine glasses, and on the top shelf, he notes with a sour feeling, the thermos he’d given Crowley the holy water in. Aziraphale considers taking it down, but finally hears footsteps from the hall, and hurriedly grabs two glasses and sets them next to the wine.

When he turns, Crowley is leaning in the doorway. 

“Bed’s ready, angel.” He says softly, and if that doesn’t nearly stop Aziraphales heart from beating ( _ not that it needs to, he just thinks its a nice touch, when he remembers to get it started)  _ he doesn’t know what will. 

“Erm, thanks,” Aziraphale says, gesturing a little too wildly at the wine and clinking the glasses together. He winces and carefully clasps his hands behind himself. 

“Oh, good choice.” Crowley pushes off the doorframe and walks over to him, taking bottle opener and getting about pouring them both a glass, chilling it just right with a wave of his hand. Aziraphale steps a bit to the side and watches. Crowley has unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up a bit, and taken off his shoes. Aziraphale wiggles his toes jealousy. 

“I don’t have much in the way of books, and I know you don’t tend to sleep, but there’s a TV in the office, past the living room, it gets everything.” Crowley hands Aziraphale the two glasses and takes the bottle of wine, glancing back over his shoulder as he leaves the kitchen. “Let’s celebrate.” 

 

\---

 

Celebration, it seems, for these two eternal beings, means Crowley slouched in his loveseat with his legs dramatically thrown over the side, and Aziraphale sagging into the sofa, head tilted back to watch the chandelier that almost resembles stars if he lets his eyes blur over enough. 

Aziraphale blinks as Crowley says his name. 

“Huh?” The angel says. Crowley looks at him with a crooked soft smile. 

“Drifting off a little?” He asks, wobbling forward to pour himself more wine from the third bottle they’ve brought out. Aziraphale shrugs. 

“Just thinking.” He goes to reach for his own glass and thinks better of it, head swimming. “Would you really have run off with me? To the stars?” Aziraphale asks after a moment of steadying himself. Crowley pauses, glass halfway to his lips. 

“Yes.” The demon very carefully holds himself back from hissing. He doesn’t say,  _ only with you. _

“We should go somewhere, then, dear. Not that far, but,” Aziraphale considers sobering up a bit. “The whole world to still enjoy, and if Heaven and Hell are on our backs...” Aziraphale looks back up at the ceiling. 

“We should do something about that. They’ll kill us if they catch us. And they will, even if we run.” Crowley sets his own glass down half drunk. 

“Let’s figure it out in the morning, dear. They’ll wait that long.” Aziraphale breaths, watching Crowley watch him out of the corner of his eye. The demon looks... He looks at Aziraphale the way he often does, the way that makes the angel squirm a little with the feeling of being Loved, capital, and leads him down a dangerous road of thought more often than not. Maybe not so dangerous, now that he’s gone against Heaven, challenged the Great Plan (though perhaps not the Ineffable Plan, though he can’t be sure, can he). Maybe it would be okay to scoot down the couch, lean over and take that angular hand in his. Aziraphale sighs, drawing a little of the alcohol out of himself. If Crowley notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Aziraphale, slitted eyes just visible behind his glasses. Even with less of the haziness of wine heavy on his brain, Aziraphale’s resolve, built up over 6000 years, crumbles. 

“Dear,” He says, heart beating without his brain’s permission. Crowley startles a little, blinking and focusing again on him. 

“Yes?” 

“No one’s watching us.” Crowley tilts his head. 

“I’m not sure I follow.” 

“I mean, upstairs, they’re a mess. Everything’s been turned all around. Your people I assume aren’t any better. We’re- like you said, our own side.” Aziraphale moves to the far side of the couch, adjacent to Crowley. The demon frowns and the wine bottles next to them fill. 

“We are,” Crowley says slowly. Aziraphale nods, steeling himself. 

“Just us.” He reaches across the gap between them, and pushes Crowley’s glasses up with his thumb, letting them rest on his temple. Crowley’s eyes widen a bit, hands flexing where they rest on the chair, but he doesn’t otherwise move into or away from Aziraphale’s touch. Aziraphale let his fingers brush the demon's cheek. 

“I rather think we should make the best of it.” He hums, still not quite moving closer. Crowley swallows. 

“Angel, I’m not... sssure I understand,” Crowley says softly. He wants to be, desperately needs Aziraphale’s actions to  _ mean _ what they’re implying. But he doesn’t dare push. Aziraphale tuts. 

“I always thought, well, I thought we’d get around...we’d get ourselves together, before the end.” 

“Oh,” Crowley breaths out against Aziraphale’s wrist. 

“We’ve been rather silly about all this, dancing around each other, haven’t we?” 

“Silly, yeah,” Crowley whispers. 

“I can’t claim to know how this will work out, Crowley,” Aziraphale says. “But I know I don’t want to die without you knowing-” The issue is, even after all this time, Aziraphale still worries he will Fall. It’s rather past the point, knowing he’s been in love with the demon for so long, having stood by his side and faced the end of the world, but he wonders if saying it out loud will be what does him in. He wonders if he really cares, anymore. “I love you, Crowley. Ardently, ineffably, you must know.” 

Aziraphale closes his eyes, readies himself for whatever is to come. 

Crowley kisses him. 

It turns out he hadn’t been in any danger, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on a series of fics using my good omens playlist as inspiration so if you have songs for these two or other characters/pairings maybe I'll do something based of them!! comments and kudo's much appreciated !


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